


Some things don't heal like they should.

by IslaBee



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25834417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IslaBee/pseuds/IslaBee
Summary: Emilia Flores was happy with her life, mostly. It was plain. Or, as plain as it could be, really, with having to hide a superhuman ability to heal. Sometimes things got a bit lonely.. but no big deal, right? And then suddenly she had someone to confide in, someone who understood, and things started to look a little brighter.*This fic starts during The Avengers (2012) movie. It's slightly AU, but I'll be trying to follow the main storyline from that point onwards to the best of my limited ability. Probably a long term project.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

The day started like any other. Emilia woke as she always did — a few minutes before her alarm buzzed. But at the sound she knew to actually open her eyes, turn the alarm off, and get her ass out of bed and into a scalding hot shower.

Emilia’s New York apartment was small. Very small. Just a tiny kitchen, one bedroom, a bathroom, and a living area, situated in the middle of a massive block of apartments almost all exactly the same. But this one was all hers and only hers. The decor was pretty minimal, Emilia had only lived here a few months, or that was her excuse at least — and that she was too busy to decorate properly, that was another good one. The walls were white and mostly bare, except for a calendar on the back of the door leading out into the halls of the apartment building, and a cork board hung slightly crookedly on one of the living room walls. Aside from these, and the standard apartment amenities, there were only a few house plants scattered around the place, and one dirty plate and cup by the sink, that showed that someone might’ve actually lived there. All of Emilia’s personal items were neatly stored in the various cupboards and drawers, the way she liked it.

After her shower Emilia pulled on her work uniform, a pair of socks to protect from the cold of the wooden flooring, and a thick dark grey sweater. She still had a few hours before she was required to be at her afternoon shift at the nearby hospital, but it wasn’t worth having to get changed twice. She headed into the kitchen and quickly washed out the already dirty cup by the sink, _no use dirtying any more dishes_ , and mixed up an instant coffee for her late morning breakfast.

Curled up on the couch Emilia scrolled the news on her phone, nursing the cup of cooling coffee in her other hand. The TV was on, but only for the background noise it provided, making the apartment feel a little less empty. The whole living alone thing was new to her. Before this she’d lived with her boyfriend (now ex-boyfriend) since she’d finished high school. They had been dating since she was 16. High school sweethearts people used to call them, but he was anything but. She’d stayed with him through all the digs at her and the underhanded comments, she’d put up with it because she thought that was love. Her parents had bickered occasionally but they loved each other. Emilia felt trapped. It was only through seeing her friends’ relationships blossom that she realised what she had wasn’t love. So she ended it, moved out on her own. He’d moved back in with his parents, since he didn’t have a job of his own. Emilia was happier and she had a kind of freedom she’d never experienced before. Sometimes she was a little lonely, but she wouldn’t trade this freedom for anyone or anything right now. And she knew she could call her dad or her friends if things got too bad.

There was nothing much exciting in the news. Stories about politicians with different smug faces doing who cares what, feel good stories about kids science fairs, and more stories about Stark Industries with the same smug face plastered next to each headline. Emilia sighed and checked the time. She’d planned on grabbing lunch on the way to work from a sandwich shop a few blocks away — her usual Wednesday treat. If she was going to still make it in time she’d have to leave soon.

She took her empty coffee mug over to the counter, about to place it next to the dirty plate when a crash from outside made her jump and drop the mug right on the edge of the counter. Car accident probably. It teetered for a second and then, much to Emilia’s dismay, plummeted towards the floor. She instinctively dove after it, but half a second too late. _Fuck_. The mug had smashed over the kitchen tiles, dregs of coffee splashed with it. Emilia sighs and starts picking up the larger pieces of the mug and piling them on the counter where she was originally going to put it. Once the bigger pieces were out of the way she kneels down, grabbing a cloth, to deal with the smaller pieces of ceramic. Once kneeling she spots another large piece that had slid half under a cabinet, escaping her notice on the first sweep. Emilia leans forward to grab it, placing a hand on the tiles to steady herself, and— _Shit. Ouch._ She looks down at her hand to see a shard of the ceramic embedded in her palm. It was almost the same colour as the tile, and therefore almost invisible while on the floor, but the white was bright against her hand and against the blood now pooling where it had pierced the skin. _Dammit_. Emilia sat back on her heels and pulled the offending piece of mug out of her palm, and immediately the skin began knitting back together until there was no evidence of the wound except for the still wet, and slightly smeared, blood.

Once Emilia had washed the blood of her hand and cleaned up the rest of the broken mug, there truly was no evidence of the incident, except for there now only being three mugs out of the set of four she had bought upon moving into the apartment. 

\---

For as long as Emilia could remember this was how it had been. Any injury she’d had healed almost immediately. Her dad, Emilia guessed, had figured it out when she was pretty young — when Emilia came crying to him complaining of scraped knees and stubbed toes, and the blood was there, but the was no evidence of any wound. So Emilia was homeschooled until she was old enough to understand that this wasn’t a normal occurrence and that she had to hide the fact that she healed at superhuman speed. So Emilia did learn how to hide it. How to hide the pain when she tripped and cut open her hands on the gravel, and how to wash away the blood before anyone saw it. But it was easier to avoid injury altogether. Eventually when Emilia’s dad knew she could hide any evidence of her ability she was allowed to attend a normal school at age 10.

School was fine. Emilia wouldn’t play on the playground or run around with the other kids though, for fear of injury. She’d kept her head down and made a few friends, and she was never bullied for her lack of participation. She did feel like she was missing out on her childhood a bit, but it was okay, she understood. In the evenings after school her dad would take her to a playground near their house and let Emilia run and play until it got dark. Her dad was happy to do this if it meant she got to be a kid, even just for a while.

When Emilia started high school she grew out of wanting to go the playground in the evenings. _It’s fine dad, I have homework anyway_. She felt like she was fitting in better with the other kids, able to do most of the things they could. She still couldn’t play sport or anything. Too risky.

Emilia was 14 when her dad had come home to their small apartment with scraped palms and knees. It was the middle of winter in New York and he’d slipped on some ice on his way home from work. Her dad had asked her to get their first aid kit and help clean him up. Emilia had obliged. When she’d taken her dad’s wrist to help wipe the blood and stones out of the wound before they bandaged it, she realised her hands and her knees _hurt_ , like it felt when she had tripped on her way to the playground as a kid. She could feel the wounds as if they were on her own body. Her own hands felt slick with blood and her knees ached like they had been the ones to hit the pavement, and almost as quickly as the feeling had appeared it was gone. Emilia had looked down at her own palms and realised they were covered in blood, and blood had seeped through the blue denim of her jeans. When she had washed off her hands there was nothing there, and when she’d gone back to her dad and wiped off his palms with a cloth there was nothing there either. Her dad just looked up at her from his seat at the shabby kitchen table in amazement.

" _You can’t tell anyone, Emmy"_ her dad had said. And she hadn’t.

Over the years Emilia had kept practicing this ability. Whenever her dad had accidentally cut himself making dinner for them both, or tripped carrying the groceries up the stairs of their apartment building, or stubbed his toe on their coffee table, Emilia practiced fixing it. Her dad always said she didn’t have to do it, he hated that Emilia felt his pain, but Emilia liked to help. Slowly she realised she could mend the wound partially, or take the pain away without mending the wound, or mend the wound without taking the pain. She always healed it completely in the end, but her dad encouraged her to practice. Emilia had wondered if it could work the other way. If she could heal an injury, could she inflict one the same way? She wasn’t about to try any time soon.

It wasn’t until a few years later that Emilia ended up testing that theory, completely by accident. She was 17 and headed home from a friend’s house. Walking was her usual mode of transportation. The sun had set behind the high-rise concrete buildings hours ago. Emilia had lost track of time, not being close to a window or a clock. She took her usual route; the one she always took when it was light. The problem with this was there were a few quieter streets and back alleys between her and her home. Thinking back Emilia knew she should’ve gone the longer way home, stuck to the main streets. In the moment, though, she hadn’t spared a thought for that — just worried that her dad was panicking at her absence. She was half way home when she realised she was being followed, and already in the middle of a dark alley. Emilia had felt something hard press into her back, slightly to the left of her spine and below her ribs. _Don’t move_. The person had said. _Give me your bag_. She’d had her backpack slung over her right shoulder. She took it off and turned to hand it to the person. _No use fighting back_. There was nothing much in the backpack anyway. When she’d turned Emilia realised it was a boy around her own age. The hand pointing the gun at her shook like her hand holding the backpack did. Without thinking she reached out and grabbed the boy’s wrist, like she’d done with her father when she was cleaning his hands, and forced the feeling of scraped palms onto the boy. He jolted, dropping the gun, but not before firing it into Emilia’s stomach. The pain had been blinding and Emilia crumpled to her knees. She didn’t know how long it lasted. 5 seconds, maybe 10. Long enough for the boy to have made it out of the alleyway and around the corner. Eventually though, the pain faded and she stood. Her hands were covered in blood from where she had reflexively grabbed at her stomach in an effort to make the pain stop. In the dim streetlight she could see blood on the handle of the gun. It wasn’t hers.

Emilia’s dad went pale when he turned around in the kitchen later that night to see his daughter, blood soaked and shivering. _I’m okay_. That was all Emilia had said before heading into the bathroom to clean up. Her dad didn’t ask what had happened. Emilia thought maybe he couldn’t bring himself to.

\---

Still lost in thought Emilia got herself ready to leave for work. Running on autopilot she packs her keys, phone, wallet and a bland muesli bar into a canvas shoulder bag and dumps it by the apartment door. She swaps out her grey sweater for the black jacket hung inside the closet by the doorway, and laces up a pair of black sneakers onto her feet. She doesn’t notice the sirens sounding in the distance, or the sounds of concrete smashing and metal being crushed. She flips the apartment light off and heads out the door the same as she always does. It’s not until she gets out of the building entirely and snaps out of her own bubble of thoughts that Emilia realises all hell has broken loose in New York City.


	2. Chapter 2

As Emilia exited her apartment building in Midtown, Manhattan she realised a few things. First, the crashes and sirens she’d been hearing were no minor car accident. Well, cars _were_ technically involved — but it didn’t seem to be by accident. Secondly, there were aliens in New York? They certainly looked like aliens at least. Thirdly, and probably most importantly, she’d likely have to skip lunch and head straight to work. From the looks and sounds of things the Midtown emergency department would be swamped. _Holy shit._

Looking up Emilia could see something in the sky above what was likely to be the Stark Industries tower a few blocks away. It looked an awful lot like a portal and seemed to be where these alien things were pouring out of. There were smaller ones that were too small to find any distinguishing features, and bigger snake-like ones that definitely looked like they should be avoided at all cost. Thankfully it looked like there were only a few of these and they seemed to be bottlenecked in the portal entrance by what looked like lightning coming from somewhere down below.

Emilia took off down the sidewalk, not too worried about the flying debris. If she got hit, so be it. It might hurt a bit, but she’d be fine within a few seconds. Other people, on the other hand, might need her help. She dodged an overturned car while crossing the street and stuck close to the sides of buildings where she could, avoiding the ones that looked extra crumbly. The hospital was only a few blocks away — she’d make it. The smaller aliens, at least she guessed they were aliens — not that it really mattered right now, were on flying bike things mostly, whizzing overhead. She couldn’t see any of the bigger ones around. _Good_. It wasn’t much trouble avoiding the ones on the flying bikes as long as she moved quickly under the awnings of cafes and stores and whatever else lined the streets.

It got harder the closer to the hospital she got. Cops kept trying to usher her into buildings or down into the subway. She guessed trying to keep most people off the streets now that the aliens had started landing. And shooting. Emilia dodged another grabbing hand of a cop thinking they were trying to help and kept going, the cop had turned their focus to someone else. _Was there any point going to the hospital? Did it even still exist?_ She felt a stinging pain run up her arm and disappear again as quickly as it had started. There was really no time to look and see what had happened.

Headed down though an alleyway behind the sandwich shop she frequented Emilia almost tripped on something. The something turned out to be the leg of a middle aged woman who, honestly, looked like she’d been hit by a bus. She was leant up against the brick wall of one of the buildings flanking the alley, panting and grimacing. There was a dirty black blazer discarded to her left, and her white shirt was drenched with blood down one side. She was looked like she focussed so much just holding it together that she didn’t even notice Emilia was there. Emilia knelt and gently rested her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Emilia asked, trying to distract the woman from the growing crimson stain. Emilia knew she couldn’t heal it fully without risking suspicion, but she could definitely reduce the pain and slow the blood loss. 

“Anna.” She focussed on the wound first. _M_ _aking it shallower would work_. Then slowly dialled back the pain so it wouldn’t be so obvious to the woman.

“Do you feel okay enough that I can move you into one of these buildings, Anna?” The woman nodded, looking relieved. Emilia knew the pain was only about half as bad now, and the woman was at almost no risk of bleeding out. She’d be fine now as long as there was someone to help her. “Alright, Anna. Can you put your arm around my shoulders? We’ll just take it slow.” Anna obliged, and Emilia helped her gently to her feet. She thought back to the cop that tried to take her inside not that far back. That’d have to do.

It only took a few minutes at most to get Anna back to where the cops were, with Emilia easing her pain along the way. She handed the woman over to one of the cops and asked them to get her inside. The cop didn’t question it, and Emilia took off again back the way she came as soon as it was obvious the lady would be cared for.

Emilia was almost a block from Midtown ED when one of the alien things dropped down from a flying bike into her path. It was wielding some kind of spear with a glowing blade. Definitely an alien. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears as she scrambled backwards, away from the thing, and tripped on a piece of twisted metal. The pain from the bite of the metal into her ankle lasted a second, but that was the least of her concerns. The alien advanced on her, its green cat eyes looked almost like they were glowing, and it roared, displaying a gruesome row of sharp teeth. Emilia doubted she could fight it, and she really didn’t know the limit of her healing ability. Could she survive being torn in half? Cause that was looking awfully likely to happen right about now.

There was a fist sized chunk of concrete to her right that Emilia spotted out of the corner of her eye. She grabbed it and hurled it with all her strength at the monster’s face. It was stunned for long enough for her to get back on her feet, before it roared again and charged at her, enraged. She may have misjudged.

Before Emilia could react to the charging alien it was bulldozed by a red and blue blur. 

The blur turned out to be a man in a very patriotic suit. Emilia had never seen the famous Captain America before, but she assumed that this was him, judging by the giant silver ‘A’ on his helmet. And he’d just saved her ass from being some alien’s lunch.

She watched in half shock and half mild disgust as he knelt over the alien and pounded it in the face with his shield, effectively killing it. She couldn’t look away though. He turned to her, chest still heaving from exertion.

“Are you okay?” Emilia felt herself nod. His eyes were clearly on her blood-soaked side. “You should be inside.” He still hadn’t stood back up. He looked exhausted. His lip was split and he had a cut above his brow, he was coated in dust and sweat on top of that. A large cut on his upper arm oozed slowly, and blood seeped out of what looked like a bullet hole in his opposite thigh. Emilia snapped out of her daze. She could help this man now, and worry about the repercussions later — whatever they may be.

“Here.” Emilia stretched out and arm to him, to help him up. He looked grateful. As soon as she had grasped his wrist, and he hers, the full force of his injuries washed over her in aching waves. She stumbled slightly and exhaled, gritting her teeth against the pain, feigning exertion — and it was hard to pull him to his feet — though she guessed he still did most of the work. He was heavier than he looked, and he looked heavy. She felt all of his cuts and bruises appear over her body, and blood bead from the new split in her lip, hot and metallic tasting. The bruises slowly melted away into nothing, and the cuts knit back together within a few seconds.

Captain America looked at her in confusion and shock. Emilia wasn’t surprised — she’d expected that reaction. He also looked a lot less exhausted, which was unexpected, but good. She brushed the back of her hand across her mouth, wiping the blood off. What was also a little surprising was that the man seemed to try to just accept what she had done. He squared his shoulders, hand still grasping her wrist.

“Thanks—?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Emilia replied, an answer to both his gratitude and the implied query of her name. She was glad she wasn’t wearing her hospital name badge, but she was still conscious of her uniform’s visible logo; Midtown Hospital. “Thanks for…” She trailed off, gesturing at the alien corpse with her free hand. His eyes followed the gesture.

“Don’t worry about it.” He repeated her own dismissal back to her, smiling. “I’m Steve. By the way. Steve Rogers.” Another not so subtle attempt to elicit her own name.

“Thanks, Steve Rogers.” Emilia felt herself crack a tired smile. “Shouldn’t you, uh…” She glanced skyward.

“Yeah.” He nodded, looking up as another group of the aliens passed overhead. “You should head inside.” Steve inclined his head at a nearby building. If he was disappointed at not getting her name he didn’t show it.

“Yeah. I think I will.” Emilia let go of his arm. “Nice to meet you, Steve Rogers.”

“You too, ma’am.” Steve said, still looking at her curiously. She turned away, heading towards the building Steve had identified. “Thanks again!” Emilia heard him call out, and then take off into a jog a few seconds later. She chuckled. He sure was polite. 

Almost suddenly Emilia realised she was exhausted. It made sense though, she couldn’t remember a time she had fully healed someone that quickly, especially with injuries like his.

She got to the hospital fairly quickly after that, mainly due to no other ‘incidents’ occurring, since she wasn’t exactly moving quickly anymore.

————————

Emilia ended up working in the hospital for what felt like forever — she’d stopped counting after the first 24 hours. She’d napped when she could on her breaks, and the hospital fed all the staff regularly. After the aliens had all simultaneously collapsed in the streets, the flood gates had opened, and the hospital didn’t have nearly enough capacity for the amount of people coming in with broken bones, and massive lacerations. It was an all hands on deck nightmare. Emilia was well past the point of exhaustion, with having to balance her regular nursing duties against helping as many people as she could without being noticed. She almost cried with relief when she was told by her supervisor to go home for a shower and a decent sleep, now that everything seemed to be slowing down.

Emilia dreaded the few blocks walk home. Sleeping on the street outside the hospital seemed more appealing to her at that moment. Not to mention she was starving. If she’d had to guess she would have said it was around midmorning when she finally left the hospital. The streets seemed almost back to normal after a good clean up of the rubble, though there was definitely less traffic. A lot of the buildings were cordoned off — likely due to structural damage — but most seemed pretty okay. A few missing bricks here and there, but not too shabby. Prints of the front page news were pasted in the windows of the still open convenience stores along her walk, hailing The Avengers heroes — the saviours of the city. Emilia couldn’t help but question whether the city would need saving if this wasn’t the location of their headquarters, however, since it had eventually come out that the Stark Industries tower was the location of the device that had opened the alien portal to begin with.

Eventually, with the distraction of thought, Emilia had made it back to her apartment and forced herself through the shower, before collapsing onto bed to sleep for the foreseeable future.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch. 3 - Some things don’t heal like they should.**

The first half of the battle had gone by in a blur. Steve wasn’t really sure he remembered any of it. Once the portal had been opened and their jet had crash landed thanks to Loki, Steve’s autopilot had kicked in. He vaguely remembered ordering a perimeter be set up, and formulating a plan for the team to contain the threat within that perimeter. After that though, his focus was on destroying as many of those _things_ as he physically could, and ushering civilians to safety.

Getting blasted out of the window of the bank on 42nd by an unknown explosive really threw Steve back into reality. He realised the team holding their own against the flood of extraterrestrials wasn’t really a great long term plan. If the portal wasn’t closed soon— well, he didn’t really want to think about it.

Looking around, the city was a mess. Buildings weren’t holding up under the onslaught, and the debris was evident along long stretches of the street to Steve’s left and right. Cars were crushed under the weight of concrete chunks, and fires burnt hot nearby. Midtown was chaos.

Steve took off towards the thick of the fighting, battling with the fact that he wasn’t as much help as he could be, stuck on the ground, while the others took care of the aerial front. Down here, though, his job was to protect civilians — which was harder than it sounded, especially when said civilians tried to stand their ground after throwing _pebbles_ at an alien species. To be fair, it was just the one woman, who’d scrambled to her feet and was now facing down the charging beast.

Steve sprinted at the thing, intercepting it and knocking it to the ground feet away from the woman, a nurse, by the looks of the uniform. He took his shield in both hands, kneeling, and slammed it down on the face of the alien, shattering what he assumed to be its skull. Still leant on the shield he turned to the nurse. She looked almost worse off than him — blood stained the side of her blue uniform, half hidden by a jacket, and a trail ran down the side of her face; though Steve couldn’t see an origin he assumed it was hidden in her hair, which was dark enough to mask the colour of blood in it. She was covered in the same concrete dust that filled the air, and similarly coated him.

“Are you okay?” He asked, still kneeling. Steve didn’t know yet if he could stand without his legs buckling under him from sheer exhaustion. He’d gone too hard in battle, too quickly — this was a marathon rather than a sprint. The woman nodded. She looked around 25, wide eyed and breathing hard; either from fear or exertion, probably both. “You should be inside.” Though he was sure this was something they both already knew, under the circumstances.

“Here.” The woman said suddenly, extending an arm, surprising him. Steve was grateful. Maybe it was clear already that he was worn out. He took up the offer of the woman’s arm and clasped her wrist, her own hand wrapping around his. Steve felt a rush through his body at her touch — a feeling he couldn’t quite put his finger on — and once standing, he realised he felt _good_. Completely fine. Like the battle had never happened. There was no longer a constant, exhausting, ache in his bones, or stinging in his leg where he’d taken a hit from one of the things’ guns. _What?_

He watched the woman wipe a bead of blood, that definitely hadn’t been there a second ago, off her lip. He also noted a spreading stain on the leg of her scrubsstartling against the blue. He tried to mentally shrug it off, squaring his shoulders to test their movement. _Completely fine._

“Thanks—?” Their hands still clasped each others’ wrists.

“Don’t worry about it.” She looked tired, suddenly, as if weighed down by something. “Thanks for…” Steve followed as she gestured towards the corpse, his shield still upright in its face.

“Don’t worry about it.” He couldn’t help but repeat what she’d just dismissed him with, a poor attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m Steve. By the way. Steve Rogers.” He hoped giving his name would prompt her.

“Thanks, Steve Rogers.” It was another deliberate dodge, but the tired smile she gave him implied it wasn’t personal. “Shouldn’t you, uh…” The woman glanced up. She was right — his curiosity was getting the better of him.

“Yeah.” Steve looked away from her, finally. There was still work to be done. “You should head inside.” He inclined his head at a nearby building, though he got the impression the woman could take care of herself.

“Yeah. I think I will.” He didn’t realise she had still been holding his arm until she let go. “Nice to meet you, Steve Rogers.”

“You too, ma’am.” His disappointment at the fact that he couldn’t get her name was only growing, since it was likely he’d never get the chance again to ask. And before he could, she’d turned away towards the building he’d pointed out, a sandwich shop. “Thanks again!” He called, before she could disappear completely.

Steve shook his head and let out a short, incredulous laugh. Whatever had just happened… He’d think about it later.

————————

At the shawarma joint with the team later that afternoon, Steve found he wasn’t very hungry. Not as hungry as he should have been after a battle like that. He picked at pieces of lettuce and onion as he and the other Avengers sat, and mulled things over. The group’s tired silence made it easy to think.

After the portal had closed he’d taken note of his injuries. The worst ones; the cut on his arm, and gunshot wound on his thigh — were gone. The only evidence being the damage to the fabric of his suit and the crusted blood. Steve was used to his body healing fast since having the serum, but it was always an overnight job, at minimum, for injuries like those. The only explanation he could come up with was the woman. As soon as she’d touched him... His thoughts trailed off. It still wasn’t a feeling he could explain. It’s not like it was impossible, either. He was sitting eating shawarma with a literal god and a man who could turn green almost at will. 

Steve could still picture her face, and the blood soaked uniform with the Midtown Hospital logo, but God, he wished he’d been able to get her name. He felt guilty at that, though. There was a reason she wasn’t giving it out freely, and it was likely because she didn’t want any part whatever this was.

————————

After Thor had taken Loki back to Asgard, Fury had given the team all leave to do what they wanted. Steve couldn’t let the questions surrounding the woman go. As much as he wanted to, he also wanted answers — and boy, was he tempted to just take his bike to the hospital and demand them. He could be there in less than 20 minutes. It could be for everyone’s benefit — to have someone on the team that could heal them at a moments notice on missions, if the Avengers were ever to work together again. A safety net. The leader in Steve was humming at the idea, but the more logical side of him beat it back. If this woman wouldn’t even give her name it meant she didn’t want anyone finding her. He was torn.

————————

The few days after battle in New York, Steve still couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened — fighting back and forth with himself on whether or not it was reasonable for him to go looking for the woman, who clearly did not want to be found. But eventually, he had come to a decision. 

Steve hadn’t told anyone about her. He’d claimed his lack of injuries after the battle was due to the serum. When Natasha had pointed out that she’d seen him get shot in the leg by one of the alien rifles, he’d just shrugged and explained there was no evidence of it except the burnt and bloodied hole in his suit. That he’d just healed fast, he guessed. None of it was an outright lie, and none of it was really the truth. Natasha was satisfied, anyway, along with the medical team listening in. Essentially, if he went after her and came up with nothing — no one would be any the wiser.

He’d made up his mind. Steve was going to Midtown Hospital to ask about the woman. If he could get any information at all he would take it as a sign that he was doing the right thing. He still felt a gnawing sense of guilt, but he pushed it to one side. Before he could overthink things, he donned a hat and sunglasses, grabbed his jacket, and was headed out towards the hospital.

————————

“I’m sorry, sir, but we are unable to give out _any_ private information about our staff here.” Steve cursed under his breath. He pushed off of the hospital receptionist’s desk where he was leaning and said a quick ‘thanks anyway’ before heading back out the main entrance. The receptionist was just doing her job, and she seemed nice enough. He guessed it made sense, he wasn’t expecting much anyway, but he still felt a sharp and unavoidable pang of disappointment. It was a sign he needed to let the woman go. He couldn’t help but look around on his way out, though — hoping against all odds to catch a glimpse of her among the other staff going about their own days.

Steve checked his watch, once outside of the hospital. It was just after midday. He figured he might as well go for a walk, find some lunch. Since he was here anyway, it was only for convenience’s sake. He definitely wasn’t hanging around for any other reason. Or that was what he was trying to convince himself.

He ended up finding a sandwich shop about a block away from the hospital — the only place in the area open. The sign with the name of the store on it, clearly meant to be hung above the door, was on the ground, lent up against the side of the building. Other than that, the small shop was fairly unscathed in comparison to some of the other buildings in the area. Steve managed to get a pastrami on rye, pretty quickly considering the amount of customers in the store, and decided head out. He could walk and eat. At the door he turned to call out to the man who had served him. “Thank y—“ Something— no. Someone had hit Steve in the chest, letting out a small ‘oof’ at the impact. “I’m so—“ Again, Steve was stopped mid sentence as he looked down to see dark hair and a familiar pair of green eyes. “Hi.” Maybe this was meant to be. “I think I owe you lunch.”


End file.
